


Waking Up

by klmeri



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Gen, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-05
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2018-01-10 06:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klmeri/pseuds/klmeri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy is caught in a time-loop and goes insane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking Up

_Day 126_  
He has to kill me today. (Leonard, McCoy—did I have those names?—asked him to, begged possibly.) I couldn't control my traitorous hands, snatching the phaser they were stupid enough to leave within my reach. Death is a friend.  
_Monster Bones._  
My last day. When the moment comes—not the usual death, not the burning or the explosion or the gasps of everyone—it's for me alone.  
But the final glimmer of humanity in me wonders, dreads, hates. Waking up.

 

 _Day 124_  
Voices talking.  
“I can’t do this anymore, Spock. God, _I can’t_.”  
“You must, Jim.”  
Someone breaking down, close to tears. (Only humans cry.) “What if it never stops?”  
“Then we become him.”  
Him. Monster.  
They mean me.

 

 _Day 121_  
Useless, all of it. Pointless. No end.  
“Bones, Bones, bones, booones...”  
A monster of bones? Is that what I am?  
When I leap for the phaser, he knocks me aside, the tall one, the strong silent one.  
The other calls him “Spock” and it’s the damned funniest thing I’ve ever heard, so I laugh and laugh until I cry.

 

 _Day 118_  
“Jim can’t d-do it but you c-can. Kill.” A plea. _Please don't let me hurt them._  
Spock touches my face. Can’t remember the last time he touched me. “I will,” he promises.  
I am weak, relieved, (feeling human) only to be sucked back into madness in the next moment.  
Shattering. Fighting to hold on.

 

 _Day 116_  
They are trying so hard, brainstorming and tossing ideas back and forth. I used to participate, in the beginning. Now it’s simply difficult enough to keep holding on.  
Yeoman Rand interrupts this impromptu secretive meeting in the conference room. Knew she was going to; door opens and she walks in calling “Captain?” so curiously, and it’s the fifth consecutive time but this moment snaps something no eye can see, something of me...  
Vision goes dark, full of red spots. Someone screaming. Someone is grinding my wrists, pinning them, hurting me and I don’t care.  
Time passes until I’m not boiling and breaking anymore. Jim cups my face and says, like he is the one broken, “Oh, Bones.”  
“Did I kill her?” I ask, later.  
Jim shakes his head but his eyes say _almost_.

 

 _Day 113_  
One of my clearer moments, collected, too serene. “Spock, do you know the signs of a psychotic break?” I'll teach you if necessary.  
“I do, Leonard.”  
“Good.”

 

 _Day 112_  
...or is it 113? 115? 121? How many days did I lose in the beginning, before I began counting? How many days did I lose in between, when the thought of counting shattered me piece by piece?  
But it’s ending. They tell me it’s ending _soon_ and I have to believe, have to hold on— _but it’s so hard_. (Hold on, Bones. God, I’m trying. I am.)  
The tremor in my hands is prominent now. Jim can’t look at me without worry in his eyes and Spock—Spock is pity and resolve. I thank God for that resolve. It will save me. I should beg him, just in case—no, McCoy, you’re fine. You’re holding on.  
We lose this time, too.

 

 _Day 109_  
The day before dies in burning fire and then I wake up, my nose identifying the same familiar smell of my quarters. The 109th time.  
Or is it longer?  
But what does that matter?  
It’s the same fucking day and—  
Another part of me, a shard of sanity, shatters into dust.  
Hold on, Bones.

 

 _Day 107_  
They begin to understand. I do, too. Sweet Jesus, I brought them to Hell with me.  
_Leonard, you’re a monster now._

 

 _Day 106_  
Jim.  
Jim and Spock—they—I can’t.  
They remember. We were successful and they remember. Finally. “Bones, how is this possible—a time loop?”  
Like I hadn’t already said that, again and again, every day. This time I have no words; I weep.  
I’m not alone. Memorable, this, the 107th time. No, wrong, McCoy—not 107. (Don't mess up the count.) That's tomorrow.  
Doesn’t stop our ending, though.

 

 _Day 104_  
We get to this point—Kirk, Spock, and I, Leonard—and we never make it. 4 attempts (days?) and we die first.  
This time I say no. “No, won’t work, tried it, we died, _damn you, Spock, think of something else_ ” and he does. He says mind-to-mind and he anchors us with his hands on our faces, the three of us connected, and—  
—there’s a damned wall, wall in my mind, then collective surprise and shattering—  
I wake up. Breathe.  
Okay, this time warn Spock about the wall.

 

 _Day 101_  
I wake up tasting failure. So close.  
Another minute and I wouldn’t be alone. Not alone.  
Get up, McCoy.  
I step out of my quarters onto the smooth track of time. Ensign Samantha Harker hurries by. I never knew her that well; then again, seeing her every morning—same hurried pace, same hair style, same fleeting glance at my person—that ought to make us long-time friends.  
Funny, how screwed up this is, meeting people over and over. Consecutively. Endlessly.  
Go to Sickbay. Ignore Christine. She gives me the look—the one that happens since I quit greeting her like usual upon entrance to the bay. How long ago, when I didn’t mind the “Good morning” and other drivel. Now it grates, grinds (and never stops).  
Cracking again, McCoy. Hold on.

 

 _Day 91_  
Waiting is not hard, not when you know the outcome. It starts like always, in sequence, if I wait: Kirk, “...on the Bridge, Doctor McCoy, now,” and I get up (again—over and over again, knowing how this ends) and say, “On my way. McCoy out.”  
Funny. Steady voice. Used to break around the 40s and 50s.  
Go to the Bridge, McCoy.  
Changes nothing.

 

 _Day 82_  
Avoided Bridge, felt like a change.  
Listened to the klaxons blaring _death! death!_ and waited.  
And died.  
Woke up again.

 

 _Day 76_  
_This is the worst day of my life._ [Personal Log: McCoy, L. H., recording complete]

 

 _Day 75_  
It's easy to see the signs of a psychosis developing: faint tremor in usually steady hands, bouts of wild rage, despondency, thoughts of suicide (which is hilarious, considering my situation), of homicide.  
But I still have remorse, don't I?  
I record this in my medical log now, even knowing this evidence of my sanity will be erased, at the day's end. I'm trying to hold on, that's what Jim said to me the 34th time around, once I convinced him I wasn't loopy. But I didn't have the heart to try again, the convincing, the day after.

 

 _Day 69_  
Maybe a trip to Engineering? It explodes first, right? Scotty gives me a look when I arrive unexpectedly, asking, “Doctor?”  
“Just here for the bird's eye view, Mr. Scott.” He can’t know what’s coming (no one does, except me). I’d try to explain but I've done that before. No good.  
Last time Scotty had his lads tie me to a chair, said I was raving mad.  
The blast is bright, a split second of fear. We rip apart and I know I’m going to wake up.  
(If I don’t, that’d be infinitely better.)

 

 _Day 51_  
Come to the Bridge, Bones. Bones goes. Fast forward.  
Jim smiles, in his command chair, alive. Spock ignores me, I ignore him (last time—last ten times?—he nerve-pinched me). They look at me funny and I smile.  
“Captain,” (it begins) Spock announces, “computer’s sensors detect—"  
And we go _boom_ , soon. I laugh, though everyone else on the Bridge wonders what’s so humorous about Spock's discovery.  
_'Cause it can kill us._  
Has killed us, 49 times.  
No, 51 now. Remember, McCoy.

 

 _Day 32_  
Breathe. Tell Jim. Tell Spock, again. Time loop. Ridiculous.

 

 _Day 29_  
When I wake up, my head is on my pillow, on my bed, in my quarters. A day like any other—and unlike any other because it’s always _today_.  
I was scared at first, blabbering on about real déjà-vu and “ _what the hell, what the hell, am I sleeping?_ ”  
But this is no dream, or it’s a dream where no one listens and you’re crazy and the Enterprise is destined to explode at the end of the day and then the day repeats itself.  
I’m tired. Am I sleeping, caught in this cycle? A doctor needs to sleep—a sane man needs sleep.  
So I don’t get up today. By the time people think of me, there will be impending disaster to turn aside their thoughts.  
Except sleep never comes, even lying in the dark.

 

 _Day 23_  
Why does nothing work? Nothing avert this, or stop this, or save us?  
I fear for myself now, more so than the others.

 

 _Day 22_  
I’m a doctor, not a scientist. We could be caught in a web (a web of time? Is that even possible?) and unable to get away. The Enterprise journeying into the unknown reaches of space—and caught in a trap of the gods of the universe.  
But I’m no scientist. I know nothing of space or time, except the little bit of here-now.  
Maybe Spock can...?

 

 _Day 16_  
Why is this happening?

 

 _Day 12_  
Woke up, tried convincing Jim again. Captain joked about too much work, ordered me to rest.  
Told you so, Jim. We’re gonna die. Don't look so shocked.

 

 _Day 9_  
I had a fleeting moment of entertainment: surprised Spock. Shoulda seen the look on the hobgoblin’s face when I could quote him verbatim before he could get the words out of his mouth. Guess there’s a silver lining to this mess after all.

 

 _Day 8_  
I cannot stop it. What am I supposed to do? I’m just me, a human, a simpleton—a frightened man caught in a trap that no one else seems to be in.  
Play along, play my role, up until the end in Sickbay? I tried that and when the nurses figured out too late why I was so calm, so resigned, they freaked out.  
I knew we were going to die.  
I would dream of the horror on their faces except this is my nightmare.

 

 _Day 5_  
Well, this is... I don’t know what this is. The day starts the same and I feel like an actor. Greet Christine, start my report on the last away mission, answer Jim’s call. But I shouldn’t do those things, I should be doing something else, something different or better or faster—and save us all.  
Hard to save yourself when you’re the only one dying.  
“Damn it, Jim, listen to me!”  
“Bones?”  
“We’ve been here before, we’ve—damn it, look Spock’s going to find an anomaly and then—"  
Jim shoulda cottoned on faster. His face was a mixture of _oh God_ and _how did you know?_ before the blast in the starboard-side.

 

 _Day 3_  
I don’t—why am I here? Everyone looks the same, does the same things. Christine tells me of the change in my schedule next week, that ensign almost runs me over coming out of the turbolift, Jim says “Bones, I’ve been thinking—"  
It’s happening all over, from the beginning of the stardate. _The same stardate_.  
Does that mean we are going to die again?  
And the time after that?

 

 _Day 1_  
Leonard rolls out of bed, showers, and dresses. When he enters Sickbay, Christine catches him before he can hide in his office with a sharp “Good morning, Doctor. There’s been a change to your schedule...” They discuss it, move some appointments around, unconcerned.

After lunch, the Captain comms to Sickbay, requesting the doctor’s presence on the Bridge. McCoy is in no hurry, though some ensigns seem to be, and when he arrives at his destination, it’s to find that Jim is bored and happy to see him, asking about his dinner plans. Spock looks faintly disapproving from his station, because the CMO is on the Bridge and the matter isn't work-related. McCoy is amused.

Then Spock says, "Captain, computer's sensors detect an anomaly at—" and the Vulcan reads off coordinates. They turn to the Bridge screen, but nothing's there, just empty space and far-away starlight.

The doctor tells the Captain to quit wasting his precious time, but secretly he is pleased, and departs the Bridge. He's only stepping out of the turbolift when the klaxons go off, and his gut drops. But he had just been on the Bridge, and they were fine...!

The ship rocks, makes an awful, awful sound, like it is physically dying. An ensign cries out, falls into McCoy, and they both go down. When the metal beneath his body heats—a crazy, inexplicable, tortuous heat—and burns his skin, he realizes how bad things really are. Then the lighting flickers, the ship glows red in the dark and, without warning, comes apart in a scattering of particles. They are—every last one of them—burnt with their ship, McCoy surprised in his last moment because he hadn't imagined dying today.

But then he wakes up.


End file.
